Heavy Burdens on Young Shoulders
by Culture Shock in Berlin
Summary: Kup reflects on Hot Rod as he slowly grows into Rodimus Prime. Father/Son type bond indicated. Reading and reviewing is deeply appreciated. TF:TM. Oneshot  unless people like it and want more.


**Author's Note: **Was in one of those brooding, pondering moods, and so mirrored this onto Kup. (Sorry, Old Timer.) Well, not much really to say on this one, besides that I hope you enjoy it. And, of course, all I own is the fic, everything else is Hasbro's.

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**A Burden No One Should Bear**

I knew you were destined for great things.

Since the day we found you under that wreckage, I could tell your future would be filled with achievement. You were buried deep, a spiral having gone straight through your chassis, skimming your spark chamber. It was a Primus given miracle you were alive, let alone conscious. That stubbornness in you kept you awake all those hours as you slowly bled out, trapped, helpless, desperate and no signs of rescue. Others quoted you for having perseverance, but I knew the truth. Primus Almighty you had one thick head. It was going to take a lot more than a brush with death to paint your funeral portrait.

That headstrong nature really helped you at the Autobot Academy. You rose so quickly and adapted so fast that you caught even Prime's attention, and within a month from there you were stationed in a unit. I remember that time well, as it was when I decided to take a rain check on teaching and seek out the action my old body was craving for again. Somehow we ended up in the same squad, and you, being the little fragger you were, exclaimed in surprise not knowing that "old coots were still allowed to fight?" I'll have you know I can take down twice as many Decepticons as you can in a minute, turbo revving punk!

Reminds me of the time I was stationed on Delta Kai during a resistance strike, back before there were any 'good guys' and 'bad guys'. No, it was just me and a group of fellas who claimed to be a military versus the rest of the planet. We were helping the citizens get back on their feet, and out of them, this old mech stands out in particular. I can even recall that he – I'm getting off track, aren't I?

Anyway, as I was saying, you're a good kid with a head the size of Unicron.

That's why it pained me to see you so low on morale when your destiny sunk in.

When you became Prime, it was like a spark was set off under your hood and you drove and drove, trying to use the wind alone to blow it out. But you couldn't, and now you have nowhere to go but the brick wall of reality that Optimus is dead and the rest of the entire Cybertronian race is looking to you for guidance. A few hours since your heroic start and already you wear the lines of stress, seeing with optics of worry, and just radiating with uncertainty and remorse. We have placed the burden no one should have to bear on the shoulders of a mere child.

You doubt yourself; I can see it in your face. You don't wear the same cockiness and assurance you used to 4 hours ago, that's for sure. Every motion is cautious, every action thought out. I'm beginning to miss the old you already. This worn, nervous figure standing before me can't be the mech I guided through most of his life. In just a short amount of time, you're whole world has changed.

You rose as Hot Rod, and stood as Rodimus Prime.

Everyone's dancing around you, enjoying the moment to forget all the death, all the destruction, all the war, and just let free. But I can see you, standing in their circle, doing your best to mimic their beats, their cheerfulness, their confidence.

But you don't have any anymore.

My silent vigil goes unnoticed, others either shaking off or ignoring my lack of appearance. The only one who might notice is the one weighed down so strongly that it takes heavy concentration just to move through the haze. I take the free time to think, to focus, to plan my words. You're going to need all the help you can get, and there's no better aid than a war veteran like me, I can promise you that. The only Cybertronian older than me hasn't engaged in war since establishing our freedom. Besides, Alpha Trion will be trying to speed up the process of healing his scars, hiding them just as you do that it will do more damage than good in the end if you seek his help.

Can't blame him much, he just lost a son. As I have.

I don't think I'll ever have the same old Hot Rod back, but just in case… No matter, whatever Hot Rod I get, I'll still be here for you. I'll always be here, waiting for you, prepared with experience to heal the wound that's still carving deeper into your spark.

That's what fathers are for.

And as you hide from your reality and I from the faces, I raise my cube with somber grace.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

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**End Note:** Yup, Casablanca quote. I went there. This actually all started with Casablanca...anyway, I hoped you enjoyed my little ficlet here, at least enough to review. :)


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